Dadathur
by KiaraTheBrave
Summary: Abathur, master of evolution and father of two, must strive to preserve the family he has made. Conflict arises when his desire to improve all things drives a wedge between him and his wife. Will Abathur preserve the love (in all the wrong places) that he has found, or will he destroy it, even as he strives for its perfection?
1. The Heart of Perfection

Abathur, the evolution master, opened the door to his one-story house and slithered inside. The interior could only be described as… imperfect. He was greeted initially by the common area, the least efficient room of the abode. The furniture advocated an inactive lifestyle, the brown carpet inhibited effective movement, and the many wall decorations were a massive misuse of both monetary and physical resources. A television sat atop a small rectangular table on the left wall, across from the couches, further encouraging a slothful existence. The room on the opposite side of the entrance was a kitchen, decreasing the distance needed to deliver food to the house's inhabitants. Efficient, though the nutrients gained were ill-proportioned. A hallway just beyond the television led to the three bedrooms of the house, as well as the only bathroom. Abathur had adapted to ignore such gross imperfection, however; imperfection was highly prevalent in Terran society, and adaptation was necessary for survival.

That didn't mean that Abathur couldn't strive for perfection in other things.

Footsteps sounded on the far side of the building, and a small form came rushing out from the hallway. "Dadathur!" the being cried, approaching as quickly as its imperfect legs could carry it.

"Jonathan. You, home early. Did not expect this."

Abathur's son threw himself into an embrace, squeezing his father with all his might. "Yeah," Johnny said, still smiling. "I was sick today, so mom said I could stay home from school."

"Curious. Physical ability, seemingly unchanged. Appear similar to standard condition."

Johnny's smile evaporated as he began to slouch, backing away from the embrace. "W-Well, I guess I'm not _that_ sick." Immediately, the child began coughing furiously, releasing a number of bacteria from his system into the surroundings. Abathur had to resist the urge to manipulate the bacteria's essence, creating a more perfect creature. Previous experimentation with Terran bacteria had proven unsuitable for his family.

"You, sufficiently healthy," Abathur hummed to his son. "Scholarly avoidance, leads to imperfection. Not advisable."

"Aw, c'mon dad! It was just one day!" Johnny protested, stomping his foot on the ground.

Abathur decided to be lenient on his son in this one instance. "One day, unlikely to create drastic academic change. Repeated occurrence will not be accepted." Johnny seemed to agree to this, as his face lightened somewhat. "Provided you restore bedroom to standard condition."

Johnny threw up his right arm, gesturing towards his room at the end of the hallway. "But I just cleaned it two days ago."

"Task accomplishment, insufficient. Can improve." With that, Abathur slithered past his son and into the kitchen, noting the scenery of the house as he proceeded. Several family portraits lined the walls, depicting his kin in several different situations. The evolution master found no need for such reminders of the past, as his memory was sufficiently perfected. Terrans, however, were known to have imperfect memories, and though he wished to improve this aspect greatly, it was not something he was permitted to do.

The scratchy brown carpet gave way to a smooth tile floor as Abathur progressed into the kitchen. A dining table was set up in the center of the room, with the various kitchen appliances centered around a raised platform on the left side. The father moved closer to the crockpot on the counter and removed the lid, revealing the gravy-soaked chicken breasts being cooked within. Leaning forward, Abathur began to spew a green high-viscosity liquid out of his central orifice into the container.

"Whatchya doin', dad?" Johnny asked, following closely behind his father.

"Simple question, Johnathon," he replied. "Mucus, inserted into broth. Contains microorganisms, specialized for specific task. Enhances flavor, minimizes unnecessary nutrients. Improves cooked poultry, better for family consumption."

"Oh," the child replied, likely unsure of the provided answer. "Dad, how come you never eat anything you cook?"

"Consumption, inefficient. Organic compounds, would interfere with complex modification system. Incapable of digestion, only evolution. Nutrient generation, too complex for discussion."

"Gee, dad, you sure talk a lot about improving. Can you improve me?"

"I recommend. Mother, disagrees. Believes imperfection is natural. Does not see potential like I do."

Johnny appeared somewhat crestfallen at the response, but the child turned from his father and left the room without complaint. Abathur turned back to the crockpot and continued to spew forth liquid, inserting enough microorganisms to create optimal conditions. Though they never explicitly stated it, Abathur knew that his family highly valued his improved cooking system. In general, his various improvements went without notice. Johnny, at the least, seemed intrigued by the capacity for perfection. His wife and daughter, however, did not seem to approve of his actions, though their lives were greatly benefited as a result.

The sound of a door opening made Abathur look towards the front of his house. Wearing an extremely short pair of denim shorts and a white tank top, Rosie stepped into the building. The high school student did not appear to be in a pleasant mood, judging by the force with which she closed the front door.

"Rosemary, clothing is inefficient. Creates unnecessary attention," Abathur said to his daughter, his throbbing voice projecting disappointment.

"God, dad, it's perfectly fine," she replied angrily. "Everyone at school wears stuff like this. And I told you, my name is Rosie."

Ignoring her complaints, Abathur continued. "Perhaps clothing responsible for current suitor situation. Inferior potential mates, attracted to scandalous apparel. If Rosemary allowed improvement of wardrobe, perhaps issue would… decrease."

Rosie's face began to grow red as blood flow increased. "The last time you 'improved' my clothes, everything I touched started to burn! And there's nothing wrong with my boyfriends. It's just that _you_ keep scaring them away!"

"If suitors were efficient, would permit courting. Previously submitted persons, genetically inferior."

"I can't talk to you right now. I'll be in my room." Rosie then turned and stomped down the hallway. A distant _thump_ could be heard as her door was shut.

Once again alone, Abathur turned to the still-cooking chicken. _Need some way to improve mood_ , Abathur thought, staring at the mixing ingredients. With Rosie in a sour mood and unwilling to converse with her father, the evolution master would have to take an indirect role in improving her mood. A number of ideas passed through his mind, but none appeared to be particularly affective. Previous attempts at clothing improvement had proven… ineffective. Often, Rosie took offense to any gifts given to her. Abathur distinctly recalled the twelfth celebration of her hatching, at which she received her very own pet hydralisk. He had made sure to reduce its attack potential, though the reduction in efficiency hurt him dearly. She had responded with hysterical screams and would not cease until the hydralisk was terminated.

Inspiration struck, however, as Abathur recalled the chemical compound he had found in Rosie's backpack. With the label "Molly," the pills appeared to create some sense of euphoria when administered. Upon recalling its chemical composition, Abathur raised his hands to his frontal orifice, spewing out a small object coated in green liquid. A small, twisting larva sat in his hands; he had spun high concentrations of the compound into the internal structure of the organism. Holding the creature over the crockpot, Abathur snapped it in half, draining the creature's internals into the mixture.

Content with the knowledge that the meal had been vastly improved, Abathur slithered off into the living room, to await the return of his wife and the commencement of dinner.


	2. A Logical Alteration

Abathur was improving the floor of the living room when the door opened. His ocular receptacles fell on a woman with a stately, plump figure wearing a grey skirt and matching coat. Her brown hair hung freely to her shoulders, and her thick-rimmed glasses gave her an air of importance. From the fists-on-hips posture she had adopted, Abathur could sense that she was not entirely pleased at the moment.

"And just _what_ do you think you're doing?" she shouted, stomping up to her husband. Though she did not always agree with Abathur's pristine methods of parenting, he knew that Sue felt some degree of affection for him.

"Improving floor. Rough fabric provides inefficient means of locomotion."

"That doesn't mean you can spread those… _things_ on the floor!"

Abathur looked down at the creep tumor he had placed on the scratchy brown carpet. The flesh-like blob was spewing a purple substance from the many pores lining its surface. "Susan, creep tumors, allow for rapid movement. Useful for deployment or escape in event of attack."

"How many times do I have to tell you, we won't be attacking anything in this household!" Sue shouted. The woman raised her foot and brought down her heeled foot on the tumor, causing it to burst in a spray of ooze. Some of the compound splashed onto her calf, and she grunted in disgust. The compound that had been spreading from the tumor began to recede, depriving the household of any maneuverability bonuses.

Abathur droned in thought. "Shoe tip, high piercing damage. Poor maneuverability. With modification, ranged attack could ensure-"

"No! I will not tolerate any 'modification' of yours in this household, Abathur. I mean it this time. The next time I come home and find mice leaping tables, or flies exploding on the kids, there will be some serious consequences."

The master of evolution brought his clawed hands together in front of his oral crevice, silent. In what one could consider his heart, Abathur knew that his wife's temperament was not directly caused by his alterations; in fact, she surely found some degree of comfort in his modifications. Rather, there must have been some incident in the workplace. Though she refused to acknowledge it, her continued anger at seeing him improving their daily lives could only mean that something severely upsetting was occurring in Sue's life.

Without a word, Abathur turned from his wife and slithered into the hallway containing his children's bedrooms. Abathur loudly hummed, "Familial nutritional sustenance, prepared. Jonathan, Rosemary, your presence is requested."

Johnny, true to tradition, was the first to appear in the hallway, scurrying towards his father and, by extension, nutritional intake. Abathur couldn't help but consider how much more efficiently Johnny would have been able to reach his meal should the creep tumor have remained intact. "Hi Dad! Hi Mom!" the child exclaimed as he sped past them. In one fluid motion, Johnny hopped onto his usual spot at the dining table, grasping his eating utensils with religious fervor.

Rosie, evidently, had not yet recovered from her agitated state. The teenager sulked from her room, barely giving either of her parental guardians a glance as she shambled down the hallway. _Rosemary's compound, sound addition_ , Abathur thought to himself. _Both females, emotionally disturbed. Improvement, sorely needed_.

After the two children had taken their places at the table, Abathur slithered into the kitchen, where the chicken breasts had finished their time in the slow cooker. He removed the device's lid, revealing several lumps of poultry meat coated in Abathur's synthesized green broth.

"Well, children," Sue said from behind, "Who's excited for some chicken?"

Rosie merely grunted. Abathur, inspecting the meat to ensure proper cooking, made the assumption that his oldest spawn was staring at the phone her mother had purchased. _Cellular devices, detriment to mental power_ , he thought in distaste. _Inefficient means of storing information. Hive mind, far superior_.

"I love chicken!" Johnny piped in. "Dadathur said he made it _really_ good."

"Oh really?" Sue replied. "Did he say that he 'improved' it?"

"Yeah, he's making it extra good tonight."

"I see," she replied. Footsteps sounded on the tile floor as she approached Abathur. In the periphery of his vision, he could see his wife lean in and whisper, "I don't know what you've done to our food, but if it does _anything_ negative…"

"Susan," the slug-like creature hummed, "Simple nutritional modification. Reduced unhealthy content. My task, preserving health whenever possible."

Abathur did not receive a response as his wife turned and walked back to her place at the table. _Family, exceptionally hostile tonight. Must compensate for this deviation_. Before bringing the container of food over to the table, Abathur produced another larvae containing Rosie's euphoric compound. He broke this over the food, mixing the creature's contents with the meal. With an increase in Molly concentration, the father felt that his chances of rectifying the dispositions of his family had increased dramatically. Perhaps, with the burdens of life's displeasures relieved, Sue may even become more tolerant of the many things Abathur did to improve the lives of those around him.

"Evening sustenance, synthesized," he declared, turning to approach the dining table. Abathur placed the crockpot in the center and slithered to his place at the table, across from his spouse. He quickly used his spike-tipped appendages to pierce the chicken breasts, placing a serving of the poultry on each family member's plate, save for his own. "Kinsmen, commence consumption," Abathur hummed approvingly.

Before those around him could begin eating, however, Johnny asked, "Dad, aren't you going to say grace? You never do it anymore."

"I suppose, if requested." Abathur extended his clawed forearms, which his children firmly grasped. His family members all bowed their heads, and Abathur, lacking any form of neck with which to adjust head position, merely stared at his wife. "Overmind, grant benefits to those organisms that serve. Bestow unlimited potential, allow vast improvement. Grant improvement of tonight's consumed nutrition. Amen."

"Amen," the rest of the family muttered before releasing their grip and turning to the prepared meal. Johnny attacked his poultry with the energy of a starving man, while Rosie and Sue ate at a more conservative pace.

"I have to admit," his wife said between bites, "This does actually taste pretty good."

"Only purpose, providing nutrition," Abathur stated. "Pleasure value, superfluous." His wife did not acknowledge his statement, and the others remained engrossed in their meal. According to his estimate, it would take about thirty minutes for the compound to begin having an effect.

In thirty minutes, all of his family's problems would end.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Howdy folks. I'd like to thank you for taking the time to read this. I just wrapped up a pretty harsh trimester at college, and I have more of a feeling of where I'm actually going with this, so I'm shooting for a bit more regularity going forward.

Also, here's a little backstory: this story started as the title pun, which I came up with after playing through Heart of the Swarm and playing a lot of Abathur in Heroes of the Storm. The pun then got some pals and I thinking about what sorts of shenanigans he would get into as a husband and father. Through that we somehow cobbled together a general plot of our favorite slug-monster's struggles.


End file.
